


Hollow Victory

by Atherischer



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Endgame, F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atherischer/pseuds/Atherischer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was not a single soul in Southern Thedas that did not rejoice at Corypheus' defeat by the hands of the Inquisition. Tonight, Skyhold holds a celebration for their victory, save for Inquisitor Nerin Lavellan. Unlike their past wins against the Venatori and Corypheus, it felt hollow; empty. It must have been because he was not there. </p>
<p>Contains endgame spoilers and angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow Victory

**Author's Note:**

> I got my heart broken by the egg. I got this idea after watching the scene in the Inquisitor's Quarters and realised that unlike the other companions' romances, the Inquisitor is alone in Solas' romance and that made me sad. 
> 
> Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware.

The end seemed almost like a dream. Journeying back to Skyhold from Haven after a battle that threatened the fate of the world, the whole weight of it all crashed down upon her. Despite what she let the masses and her inner circle believe, save for a particular hedge mage, Nerin Lavellan had always felt the toll and the fatigue of consistently giving her all in her duties that was required of her as the Herald of Andraste. It amused her how they would ignore her insistence that whilst she believed in a higher power that came in the form of the elven gods, she did not share the views of Andrastians and the Maker. She had chalked that up to the mass hysteria and desperation that had plagued Thedas for a saviour to save them in the face of a Breach that they did not understand.

Nerin put on a practiced smile when they finally did returned to Skyhold. The Breach had been closed and Corypheus slain. There was no one stopping them from rejoicing and celebrating their victory over an ancient Tevinter darkspawn magister, as Andrastians always do against any matters from Tevinter.

Upon entering the hallway of the throne, Leliana stopped the elf with a soft touch of her hand and a softness in her eyes that she did not witness very often. Nerin paused, wondering if the ruthless Sister Nightingale was merely worried of the abundant of cuts and bruises she got from the battle or was it a more serious matter? 

“With the sour look you’re giving, Leliana, I am truly doubting that we emerge victorious against Corypheus,” Nerin lightly teased. After the torturous long night at the Winter Palace, she found more proficient at putting on a mask to hide how she felt, which was to skip the celebrations altogether and sleep off all of her fatigue and sorrows. “What is it?” She shook her head, after rescuing the rebel mages and watching the Leliana from the future risk her life, the inquisitor had developed a friendship with the spymaster.

“Regarding the matter with Solas…” The rouge sighed, knowing it was a soft spot for the elf. It had not been very long since the apostate had broken up with Nerin, barely even two weeks before Corypheus decided to attack them in such an unfortunate time. The period of tears, of anger were over and now only the lethargy of adapting to not having a person to depend on nor a companion when the nightmares strike, and dealing with matters of the ferocious side of the Fade—with demons, in particular—had left her sleepless on the nights that she did not have Solas by her side.

“Yes?” Nerin tightened her jaw, pleading with Leliana to make her point. “What of him? He disappeared after lamenting the fate and the remains of his precious elven orb.”

“I was wondering if you would wish me to look for him,” Leliana replied, her tone growing gentle and Nerin began to wonder if she really was as upset as Leliana would depict her, for her spymaster to treat her as though she was a delicate porcelain doll.

She bit her lip and looked away, thinking hard about her offer. Leliana was extremely skilled in her trade of secrets and deceit; there was no one finer suited for the job than she. But…

“It’s alright,” said Nerin, her gaze looking down by the carpet and heaving a sigh, “He doesn’t want to be found. I don’t want to go against his wishes, as stupid as they may be.”

“Very well, Inquisitor,” Leliana did not touch upon the subject anymore, and instead, steered her deeper into the hallway where the candles lit up the whole room and the smell of food waft through the air. “Take rest and enjoy the banquet, Maker knows you deserve it.” She gave a small smile to Lavellan, before joining Josephine by the corner of the hallway.

With the sight and smell of food so readily before them with chalices of wine lined up by the tables, hearty chatter and tearful reunions with the soldiers and their loved ones; joy filled the whole of Skyhold.

Her inner circle dispersed, joining their friends and their company. Iron Bull gave her a hefty pat on Nerin’s back, before joining his Chargers by the table and telling her to join her when the nobles were done with her, happily filling his belly after such a day. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Blackwall joining the Bull’s Chargers by Bull’s insistence that he told his tales in battle to his company. Vivienne was happily with her nobles, chatting with their chalice in hand and sipping as elegantly and with the infinite grace Madame De Fer was known for. Cassandra and Varric were bickering—albeit in a manner that was more playful than animosity—and it warmed Nerin’s heart that they managed to make amends, even if it was something as amusing as the next chapter of Swords & Shields. They only stopped when Cole came up to Varric, pulling the knock knock jokes the dwarf has tried his best to teach throughout their journeys together and Varric’s face turned into one of surprise when the boy managed to pull it off, however crappy, but it was a start. Sera was drinking ale as though it was water and Nerin was reminded of the night Varric brought her to the game of Wicked Grace and the elf was burping and belching under the table, completely shitfaced, as she would put it. She was wondering where Cullen and Dorian were before she found them, by a corner, Cullen jokingly accusing Dorian of cheating in their regular games of chess and Dorian feigning hurt and acting indignant in the way that was so Dorian, that she had to stifle a chortle.

Joy surrounded her; it illuminated Skyhold, but it was not infectious. There was a person still missing. Solas. He had been with her since the first day, he was the one that took care of her when she was asleep, tending carefully to the mark on her hand that marked her as the Herald. She felt horrible and guilty, the myriad of nobles, her own agents and scouts were graciously thanking her, but her mind—now unpreoccupied with the fate of the world’s—was blank and Nerin found that whenever she had a moment of time to breath, her mind would wonder back to Solas. Memories of the two of them sitting by walls of the rotunda, painting the strikingly beautiful murals depicting her journey; of him teaching her how to dance because every noble in Halamshiral would be lining up for their five minutes with her; of Solas holding her in his arms on the nights where the nightmares haunt her and he would tell her of his intriguing adventures in the Fade, if only to show that it was not completely terrorising. She missed his scent, of him calling her his heart, of his soft lips, and how they would curl into a small smile as he kissed her like it could have been his last.

So many memories.

It was usually fine, comforting at some moments before the dreaded day where he brought her to the cave by Crestwood, but even then, her head was so filled with the worry that she would fail in her duties as the Inquisitor that she could channel her sadness into something productive.

However, now, there was no darkspawn magister to pummel to a pulp. No purpose to imagine Solas on the face of the training dummies and viciously going at it with her large great sword with a fear-inspiring abandon of her usual composure. No, now that everything was done, she was only left with alone, by herself in this great castle that he had given to her. Everything reminded her of her lost love, lest of all this great hold that he bestowed upon her and led her to, for the morale of the army. She was alone, only with her dark and sorrowed thoughts to accompany her.

Nerin quickly excused herself, wanting some time alone before she bawled and let her hot tears roll down her cheeks in front of every influential noble that was affiliated with the Inquisition—a force to be reckoned with—and she would not let her own personal feelings come in the way of her role as a leader, whether she was willing to be or not. Quickly excusing herself to her quarters and before anyone could stop her, she ran as soon as no eyes were on her. Light-headed, and her bruises protesting rather painfully at such vigorous use after such a tedious battle, she felt nothing but the feel of carpet on her knees, and the saltiness of her tears rolling down her cheeks uncontrollably.

She missed him so much. So, so much.

And it hurt her heart so bad that she would never see him again. Had he decide to remain by the Inquisition, Nerin would know, at the very least, he was safe within the walls of Skyhold, free to journey to his heart’s contents in the Fade. But, now that he was nowhere to be seen, he could very well die, and she would have no way of knowing. It terrified her to the core, that she could lose him completely and not know a thing about it. 

With the strength of a thousand elves, she dragged herself to her bed, burrowing her face into her pillows and wetting it with the incessant tears that would just not stop. Her cuts and bruises ached slightly from the position she was in, but she did not care. The ache by her chest and emptiness that could only have been filled by Solas was torn wide, and unlike injuries on her physical that would heal with time with nary a scar, the Inquisitor was not certain if she could ever heal from the wound he inflicted on her.


End file.
